


well, anyhow, I send my love

by orphan_account



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crossover, Hogwarts, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-26
Updated: 2011-07-01
Packaged: 2017-10-20 22:29:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/217769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inception does Hogwarts. A fusion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> take this kiss upon the brow!  
> And, in parting from you now,  
> Thus much let me avow -  
> You are not wrong, who deem  
> That my days have been a dream;  
> \- Edgar Allen Poe

Divination was Arthur's least favorite subject. Trelawney, in her low, smoky voice, murmured about the importance of calming the Inner Eye in order to correctly cast a horoscope, and he felt like any second his forehead was going to thump down onto the desk in front of him and jerk every other dozing student out of their hazy daydreams.

It had been an easy OWL though, which was why he was here. And it did leave him with two hours of free time he could use to practice sketching mazes onto paper. His Arithmancy project was due in a few days. He couldn't get it exactly right, and he didn't know where the error lay - but he knew Ariadne would find the missing piece and help him figure it out. It was still frustrating, though.

As were the sounds of crude laughter coming from the seats to his right. He fought the urge to glance over but, really, he didn't need to, to know that the Slytherins were breeding mischief.

"Silence, my students," Trelawney whispered, voice deepening as she floated past. "You will not be able to focus your energy if you interrupt the tranquility that is necessary for such complicated magical procedures as horoscope casting."

Arthur barely suppressed his snort.

"Here," someone whispered to his right. "And here. And just make this up. Use 'blood' and 'screams of agony' a lot. Here, let me do yours."

Again the Slytherins. Before he could catch himself, he was glaring in their direction. Thompson raised his eyebrows, scowling back, but Eames broke out into an immediate grin. Arthur could practically see the sparkly bling from that radiant smile and only glared harder.

Eames winked then, sending a hot flush to Arthur's cheeks. He immediately ducked his head back to his Arithmancy paper, glaring at the maze instead. It might be frustrating, but at least it wouldn't give him insufferable, hard-on inducing smiles.

 

\- - - - -

 

Arthur was glad when the class let out. He'd handed in his horoscope last, already knowing that Trelawney would make her usual tutting noise when her gaze fell on the clear and precise summary of his findings (as they were). And his description of the actual theory and workings of horoscopes - rather than embellishments of the horrors that were in store for his chosen partner - usually were not to her liking either. He imagined Laurel might be glad not to have to suffer through various inflictions of torture before a painful death.

"Ah, that horoscope's not going to earn you a good mark, darling," Eames said, glancing at the paper over Arthur's shoulder; he fell in step beside him, pressing close when they passed through the door. It closed behind them.

Arthur sighed. "What do you care?"

"I'd miss you terribly, if you were forced to drop this farce of a class. And I do so enjoy these two hours which I am free to spend looking at your lovely face -"

"Eames," Arthur interrupted him. "Shut up." At the bottom of the stairs, Ariadne was waiting for him with her bag slung over her shoulder, tapping her foot in annoyance.

"Playtime‘s over already, I see. And we were just getting to the good part!"

"Bye, Eames," Ariadne said, grabbed Arthur's arm and pulled him away, grinning. "If I did not know better, I would swear you always stay behind in this class just to have the pleasure of his company for those precious seconds it takes you to walk down the stairs."

Arthur gave her a horrified look, which made her snort in an unladylike manner. She turned her head back; Arthur did not need to glance over his shoulder to know that Eames was still standing there, watching them leave.

"He's not so bad, as Slytherins go," Ariadne commented, jostling his arm.

"He's bad enough," Arthur said. "Anyway, don't you have Quidditch practice? What are you doing here?"

"I know you, Arthur. If I don't drag you to the pitch, you will go bury under a pile of books in the library. I'm just here to make sure my cheerleading squad is in place and prepared when I catch the Snitch on Saturday."

"If you catch it, you mean."

Ariadne huffed. "We're going to flatten Hufflepuff. You will weep for your House's honor."

Arthur gave her a look. "You do remember how little I care about that, right?"

"You are impossible, how are you even a wizard!"

 

\- - - - -

 

Arthur did not enjoy Quidditch; unfortunately, as he had figured out at the beginning of his Hogwarts career, wizardfolk in general tended to be very unreasonable about their sport. Quidditch was nothing to be dissected into its admittedly ridiculous parts. It was to be passionately enjoyed, and in any case, his opinion on the entertainment factor of the game didn't matter much in the face of Ariadne's enthusiasm.

Elected Seeker for Ravenclaw in her second year, she had requested his presence at every single game since they became friends in their third year. The problem was, he did not actually have all that many friends, so saying no wasn't really an option. At the beginning, he had felt he should comply to not alienate her; by now he knew she wouldn't chomp his head off if he didn't show. But it still made him feel strange to disappoint her. And if he was honest, it was not the most horrible concession to make, for the chance to see her radiant with happiness.

Half an hour before the game was scheduled to start, Arthur started to slowly make his way towards the Quidditch pitch. The castle hallways were empty; most of the student body was in the stands already, squabbling over the best spots and screaming their throats sore before the players even entered the playing field.

It was eerie to walk down the deserted corridors. They almost never felt this abandoned, unless he was patrolling in the evenings, when most students - if not out to make trouble - were dutifully occupied in their common rooms.

"You have your Prefect Face on," someone said behind him, making him jump. "Sorry, love. Didn't mean to trip you up. Unless you wanted to trip and fall right on top of my -"

"Eames," Arthur ground out. "What are you doing here?"

"The question is, what are you doing here, considering how it is your House team and your best friend battling it out on the pitch today," Eames said, falling into step beside him. As he so often did. For unnameable reasons, it annoyed Arthur a great deal more than his grating voice or his ugly, ugly, absolutely revolting face.

"Oh, no, wait, I forgot," Eames then added just as Arthur was about to open his mouth to tell him to piss off. "You're afraid of... brooms." Eames was half-smiling, looking utterly, wretchedly ravishable, the way his tie was slung over his shoulder and his uniform was buttoned down the wrong way. Arthur felt the sudden need to go and Imperio himself into submission.

"The offer still stands, by the way, if you need someone to teach you how to ride a broo-"

"Eames," Arthur interrupted him for the second time. His breath whistled when Eames snatched his wand up in one fluid motion that spoke of hours of practice, hitting a defensive position that made Arthur take a step back.

He'd only gotten his wand out to fix the rip in Eames' shirt, following his right-hand seam. "What," he said, lowering it again. "What was - did you think I was going to _hex_ you?"

"No," Eames said, putting his wand away again, sounding far too nonchalant. "Not at all. I'm sure a good little Hufflepuff-prefect like yourself wouldn't know any proper hexes or any of that."

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "Now you're just asking for it."

"Always, darling, always."

He had exactly twenty more minutes to get to the Quidditch pitch, so of course, instead of protesting, he let Eames push him into the wall by his elbows, jerking into the kiss. Eames' hand was cupping his face, keeping him in place. He didn't move away. He never moved away. Instead, he opened his mouth and let Eames push a thigh between his legs.

Fifteen minutes, his mind said. He told it to fuck off. Eames' fingers were cool against the heated skin of his stomach.

 

\- - - - -

 

Arthur arrived late for the game - late enough, in fact, to barely see Ariadne swooping down to catch the Snitch. It hadn't been much of a question. Hufflepuff had just found a new Seeker to replace a seventh year boy who'd left school last year; she was young and untrained, even Arthur could see that.

Feeling guilty for missing most of it, he waited outside the changing rooms until Ariadne came out. She was freshly showered, beaming.

"Didn't expect you to wait," she said sunnily. "But it's nice that you're giving me more time to gloat."

"Yeah." Arthur felt himself flush and tugged at his tie. "Good game."

Ariadne's eyebrows rose. He wasn't fooling her. But she didn't comment. "It'll be a good celebration in the common room. You should come," she offered instead.

"Lenience and interhouse friendships are all good and fine, but I think my housemates might exile me if I tried," Arthur said. "I still have to look up some books for the Potions test on Monday anyway."

"Oh, Arthur," Ariadne groaned. But she let him go, just leaned in for a quick peck to his cheek that caught him off guard. "Live a little."

Arthur felt his stomach squeeze tightly. He didn't know why he hadn't told her yet, but maybe it was the circumstances of the affair more than the affair itself that held him back.

 

\- - - - -

 

It had all started in this classroom, back in September, the Potions dungeon, much revered and ever feared by students of all houses except maybe Slytherin.

The Professor had them all pair up at the beginning of the year, and since their last names started with subsequent alphabetical letters, Arthur had ended up seated next to Eames. They'd been going to school together for five years at that point. Arthur had known that this could end in nothing but disaster.

And even after all this time - over two months now - Eames could not sit still longer than two minutes, no matter how hard Arthur glared at him to cut it out. It was infuriating. Eames teased and prodded and jumped around on his seat, and he flopped these rat-hearts into his cauldron, and added those pulverized anteggs, even though they weren't even in the Potions textbook! But of course, at the end of the class, he had the potion that was closest to correct out of anyone, and Arthur only ever managed to boil a pasty grey soup that had no magical properties whatsoever.

"It's because you have no imagination, love," Eames told him, once again, as they cleaned up their workspaces. Arthur was pretty sure he was looking at another F. Maybe a F+. He'd have to make sure to get an O in his written assignment again.

"My imagination is just fine," he told Eames, even though he'd sworn himself not to engage in this anymore. It always ended the same way.

"You don't experiment. You have to be courageous in your choices. Look at this exam: a Purifying Potion. You think dropping some dried Cedar and Rosemary will do the trick? Nonsense, nothing's purer than ...?" He looked at Arthur expectantly.

Arthur's gaze was acidic. "I have no idea. Can I leave now, please?" Eames was standing in the doorway, blocking the passage for everyone. He could hear grumbles from the students waiting behind him.

Eames smiled and pulled him out of the classroom by the arm, saying, "It was a trick question anyway. You were supposed to say, 'a virgin', and I would have said, 'So we can just add a drop of your blood, then'."

"Ha," Arthur said, not amused at all.

"You are such a stick-in-the-mud."

"Thanks."

"It's a good thing you're so gorgeous -"

"Eames, shut up." Arthur flushed, realizing that Eames still had his arm in a hold. He drew away. "I have to go. I've got DADA next. I know for a fact that you don't."

"Pity," Eames murmured. He let Arthur go. Arthur wondered what the look on his face meant, and then told himself that he didn't really want to know. It was probably something inappropriate and humiliating.

 

\- - - - -

 

The first time Eames had kissed Arthur, they'd been thirteen. Just thinking about it made Arthur close his eyes in mortification, and he buried deeper into his cover, forcing his thoughts away from the topic. The harder he tried to not think about it, the more it came to the forefront of his mind.

Christmas Day had been beautiful his third year, snow-covered hills and a cloudless blue sky. He'd spent the evening before by the lake, getting a frosty nose while ice-skating and playing catch. The loneliness had caught up with him that Christmas morning - his first Hogwarts Christmas, with his parents now back in the US.

He hadn't known the girl, which was why he'd smiled at her curiously when she'd approached him by the door of the Great Hall. She'd been pretty and older and she'd asked him his name. He'd told her, hoping she might become his friend. Instead she'd pointed above his head and said, "Mistletoe," and kissed him, smack on the lips before he had any time to protest.

And then, under the laughter of a suddenly formed group of Slytherins, the girl had shifted into a boy, Eames. Arthur had known his name even then. Everyone knew Eames for the trouble he was always getting into, and because of the fact that he was a metamorphmagus.

Even a few of the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors had been laughing. Arthur's face had flamed bright red; he'd wanted to vanish into the floor - felt so stupid that he'd thought even for a moment that anyone would want to be his friend.

He'd turned around and ran out of the Great Hall, out through the door and into the cold winter air.

He hated that even now, three years later, he could not think back fondly to the day he'd made friends with Ariadne because that had been what had happened first, what had _led_ to the friendship they shared now.

She'd found him crying in the little alcove by the Quidditch stands; she'd been tinkering with her broom, spelling obstacles into the air so she could practice. She hadn't made fun of him for the tears. She'd just given him a tissue and taken him for a fly on her broom. (He'd been sick from it, of course, vomiting all over her shoes, but she hadn't minded that either, just laughed and used a Cleaning Spell.)

Arthur stared at the canopy above his head and wondered what he was doing now, making out with Eames again, letting him - no, rather, giving that to him.

 _He apologized_ , one part of his mind thought, and the other, of course, didn't think it mattered at all, because he was still an asshole. Arthur closed his eyes and forced himself to stop thinking altogether.

 

\- - - - -

 

There were all sorts of people at Hogwarts: outgoing, fun, eccentric people, and shy, introverted, distant people. Arthur had always been one of the latter, not quite shy maybe, but distant, never letting anyone close. When friendships had formed in First, even some in Second Year, they had omitted him because he did not give out that special vibe, apparently, that told other little kids he wanted a friend.

He was also fiercely competitive and had very little patience; not traits that his fellow Hufflepuffs regarded as assets. So it wasn't a big mystery why Arthur wasn't the most popular kid in his House.

What he could not figure out was how it could be so easy for Eames to make friends. He always had people around him; girls, if they didn't fancy him, still kept up solid friendships with him, passing homework back and forth, and he'd more than once found a round table with girls from all houses laughing and conversing with Eames, discussing Quidditch or spells or - once, he'd heard them talk about Muggle literature. And of course, he had his reliable band of boys always at hand if there was need to fight, or just lounging around on the Hogwarts grounds, where Arthur sometimes saw them lying in the sun, experimenting with charms.

"How does he do it?" Arthur asked Ariadne. They were walking around the lake, passed a group of ice-skating students. Eames was at the center of it. He kept sliding into the bodies of famous wizard personnages, making the other kids laugh in delight. Arthur knew he sounded grouchy and jealous, but he couldn't mask it.

"Who do what?" Ariadne followed his gaze. "Ah. Eames. How does he do what?"

"He has tons of friends. Despite the fact that he's a complete tool!"

"Whereas you're a sweetly fresh pumpkin just about ripe for the plucking," Ariadne teased.

"Oh, shut up." Arthur kicked a stone in his path.

Ariadne allowed him the mood for a few minutes. They walked on, left the lake behind them and found themselves meandering towards the castle. Then she said, "Why are we talking about Eames? Again?"

Arthur kept his head down. "We just saw him. It sprang to mind. It's just unfair that he's so popular while we're -"

"Speak for yourself," Ariadne said, poking his arm. "I am quite popular and believe it or not, I do have other friends besides you. You don't because, frankly, you're an unsocial and rude potato, so you have nobody but yourself to blame." She blinked. "And yes. I am hungry."

"Gee, thanks," Arthur said. "I think dinner's in fifteen minutes. You want to head there or change first?"

"Head there," Ariadne decided, then added, "Sorry, but you know it's true."

Arthur sighed. "I wouldn't even mind, I mean; if _he_ didn't have any friends either!"

"Arthur."

"All right, all right, I'm stopping. Bet me how many plates you'll manage to put in that tiny body of yours tonight?"

"More than you, that's for sure," Ariadne said. "You could try your hand at the sports. It would help with both issues." She managed to sound only a little smug as she said it.

 

\- - - - -

 

It was not quite true to say that beside Ariadne, Arthur had no friends; for sure, he didn't know whether he could actually call Mal - and even less, Dom - friends. Since they'd graduated, they'd only exchanged the occasional letter. But when they'd still been at Hogwarts, he'd struck up a close working relationship with them. It hadn't been on purpose; he'd stumbled into one of their projects by accident, wrong corridor, wrong door kind of thing.

But at this point, as they were working for the Ministry in the Department of Mysteries on a project they called dreamsharing, he wasn't sure it would matter one way or another. Mal might have promised him a position on their team once he graduated, but for that he would have to get top marks in Potions (aside from Charms, Arithmancy, DADA and a basic knowledge of Occlumency and Legilimency, which would require access to the Restricted Section of the Library). And Arthur was not doing well in Potions. He needed help. The letter he wrote to Mal about this was quick and to the point. If they knew someone who could tutor, they should let him know.

It only took three days. Friday afternoon, when he stepped outside the Hufflepuff common room, someone dropped their hands on his shoulders from behind, making him jump in surprise.

The young man was definitely a seventh year student. He was a lot bigger than Arthur, but his eyes had a gentleness that made Arthur relax immediately.

"You're Arthur?" he asked.

"Yes. You?" Remembering Ariadne's complaint about his unsociability, he flashed a half-smile.

"Yusuf. Nice meeting you." Yusuf was a Gryffindor, red and gold tie around his neck. Arthur wondered what he wanted just as Yusuf added, "I got Mal's owl sitting in my bedroom, hacking at my fingers until I come here to find you. So I went."

"Mal?"

"Apparently you need someone to get you off that F you're sitting on in Potions."

Arthur swallowed his pride. "I need an O. I'm great at the written assignments, but the actual brewing is lost on me."

"You seem like a bright one," Yusuf said, petting Arthur's shoulder as if he were a puppy. "Not to worry. We'll have you set in no time at all. Come on."

Arthur stared. "I was just going -"

Yusuf smiled. "I know one of the dungeon classrooms is free and stocked. Professor just finished up in there. Come, off we go."

So Arthur followed. What choice did he have? And anyway, he wanted to see Eames' face when he managed to whip out a perfect potion in class next week.

 

\- - - - -

 

The Potions classroom was empty, just as Yusuf had promised. The air was cool and damp and uncomfortable. Arthur had not been carrying his backpack with him when Yusuf'd caught up with him, and so he idled, gazing around the room as Yusuf set up the worktable, setting up a cauldron and ingredients from the teaching assistants' cabinets.

He'd always wondered about the feel of the other common rooms; whether Slytherin common room was like these dungeons, all high gray-brick walls and washed-out furniture. He wondered if, unlike the vibrant gold-orange shine of the fire that illuminated the Hufflepuff warren, Slytherins were living by a sickly green flame.

Arthur valued efficiency above creature comforts usually, but he'd always been happy that he'd been sorted into a place where he could feel - _safe_ , was maybe the right word. He'd been to Ravenclaw tower, with their blue hangings and cool, glassy structures, all squares and sharp angles. In comparison, Hufflepuff was an impossible labyrinth of roundly shaped tunnels, circular rooms that had no end and no beginning, all of which had perfectly round doors, like barrel tops. He couldn't imagine not waking up to the scent of freshly baked bread in the mornings, or cinnamon and gingerbread around Christmas.

"I've never been to Gryffindor tower," he said, watching as Yusuf finished laying out the last of the ingredients. He was quick and competent, muttering the names of the flasks and bottles and powder kegs.

"I had a girlfriend in Hufflepuff once," Yusuf said, corner of his mouth tilting up. "Zuri. Lovely girl. She smuggled me into the common room, but there was no getting into the girls' dormitory." Arthur knew her, she was in his year. But before he could tell Yusuf, the other boy pointed at him. "Any ideas what we're making?"

"Swelling Solution," Arthur guessed. There were puffer-fish parts in one jar, pomegranate, nettles.

"Correct," Yusuf said, looking proud. "So you're not all talk, then."

Arthur's mouth fell open.

"Do you remember how to make it, or do you need the book?" Yusuf forestalled the protest.

"It's a third year Potion. Of course I _know_ how to make it. The _making it_ is the part I fail at." He remembered the disaster of that particular Potions class. A handful of the students had ended up with enlarged limbs. Eames had made some tasteless jokes involving genitalia for which Arthur had wanted to drown him in said Potion.

Yusuf said, "We need to start simple so we can figure out where you're lacking."

"I have it on good authority I'm lacking in imagination," Arthur murmured in reply.

There was a bout of silence. Then Yusuf broke out into a huge grin. "You've been talking to Eames."

Arthur was taken aback. "You know Eames?"

"Know is too strong a word. He chooses to grace us with his presence now and then in the Advanced Potions Club. Let me tell you, I like explosions as much as the next person, but this guy is _insane_." Yusuf picked up the base liquid and made Arthur fill it into the cauldron. Then he made 'go on, show me' motions while he continued, "He's got brilliant instincts, but he's completely off his waffle. No one in their right mind would brew non-school regulated Potions the way he does it. I'd give you two tries, and on the third, you'd be a big, bloody splatter on the wall."

Arthur's stomach clenched involuntarily at the words. He'd never considered that outside of where the teachers supervised, Eames could be experimenting on his own. "You've told him, right? How dangerous it is?"

Yusuf shrugged. "Sure. But Eames will do what Eames will do."

"But -"

"You'd probably do well taking care of your own cauldron first before sticking your nose in his," Yusuf added, but unlike his voice, his hand was gentle as it curled around Arthur's hand.

Arthur stared in shock at his own fingers.

"You have to pay attention to add the aconite exactly the moment the solution turns from greenish to violet," Yusuf explained, letting him go. "Otherwise it can't develop the characteristic bloating effect you need to get the swell in the end."

Arthur nodded.

"Rule number one for _any_ attempt at Potions is: you do not allow any distractions while you're chucking stuff in."

Arthur made sure to follow that rule for the rest of the tutoring lesson. He found the necessary moment and felt very proud of himself when the potion turned violet immediately. Then he remembered who he worked with in Potions class.

He was _screwed_.

 

\- - -

 

Professor Snape gave Arthur a look that, on a scale from 1 to 10, with 1 being "you're a bug and I will crush you and use you in my next potion" and 10 being "I will let my assistant crush you, and also you're useless for any potion I can think of", rated a high 7.

Arthur had some tolerance for such looks. He respected Professor Snape for his competence in his chosen field. But today he could have used a nice, understanding teacher who empathized with his issue.

"I think my instructions at the beginning of the school year were quite clear," Snape said in his nasal voice. He didn't bother to lower his voice like Arthur had. "No switching of partners. If you have a problem, I suggest you deal with it. Now go sit down."

Eames was already working at their desk, chopping away at a piece of swabbly, pink flesh. He didn't look up when Arthur sat down next to him and continued ignoring him for the rest of the lesson. At the end of the hour, Arthur had, for the first time in his Potions career, brewed a potion in line with the requirements of his textbook.

"Well done, Mr. Easily Distracted," Snape said from behind his left shoulder, making Arthur jump in his seat. "I see the problem has taken care of itself." He slowly passed their workspace and inspected both of their cauldrons. In the end, he gave Eames' work a satisfied nod and moved to the front of the classroom, where he told everyone to pack up.

Eames banished his potion into the provided sink by the exit, grabbed his backpack and took off without a word. Arthur stared after him and felt like, in this moment, even the honor of being stepped on by Snape's assistant might be too high.

Then he pulled himself together. He hadn't _meant_ it like that, after all, and since when was Eames so touchy anyway?

That, sadly, did not make him feel better. It had not been a nice thing to do, the Hufflepuff in him piped up, asking Snape for a partner switch without speaking to Eames first. Arthur didn't always like that part of himself; it tended to be far too sympathetic to others. And though he could turn it off when necessary - hexing the junk off of certain threats to public safety, for example, came quite easy, especially if said threats were bullying first years - it always had a gripe when Arthur tried to shut it down in order to quiet his own finely tuned moral compass.

Bugger, he thought, rubbing his forehead. He packed his bag and hurried after Eames.

Eames, luckily, had not moved out of reach. He was halfway up the stairs when Arthur caught up with him, panting from the sudden physical exercise. Ariadne was right. He needed to work out more. This was embarrassing.

"Eames," he wheezed out. "Come on, stop."

Eames stopped and turned around. His smile was small and unpleasant. He didn't say anything.

"I didn't mean - I'm sorry, all right? But you're a - a distraction!" That was not what he'd meant to say.

The hurt, barely visible in the previous smile anyway, vanished under the familiar shield of a flirtatious leer. "Darling," Eames drawled, "I had no idea! I'm ever so sorry you can't keep your wits about you in my presence. I should have realized."

"That's not what I meant," Arthur said, aggravated. "Why can't you ever be serious about things?"

"I'm always serious about your things, love," Eames said, running his gaze up and down Arthur's body suggestively before he turned and continued his ascent.

Arthur was left standing at the bottom of the stairs, furious and confused at the same time. "And you call me a coward," he said, but Eames was out of earshot by then.

 

\- - - - -

 

Arthur spent the rest of the day sullen and unresponsive, to the point that even Ariadne washed her hands of him and left him to bubble in his own brew.

Yusuf, on the other hand, was less easy to deter. Somehow, he had managed to solve the picture puzzle that served as the entrance code to the Hufflepuff common room, and then made someone fetch Arthur from his dormitory.

Personally, Arthur thought that whoever had come up with the latest puzzle ought to be dropped off a broom at high speed. He could think of at least three better ones on the spot that could be solved in less than the minimum of seven minutes this one took. Apparently, patience was a virtue. Sadly, most of Arthur's ideas involved variations of the Penrose paradox, and he had no idea whether wizard-born kids even knew what that was.

When Arthur dropped into the fat, comfortable armchair by the fire, Yusuf, who'd been peeking around in what he probably thought was an inconspicuous manner, jumped in surprise. Arthur snorted, amused. Yusuf's face turned red. He did sit down, though, and then he proceeded to talk Arthur's ear off about all the new experiments they were devising in the Potions Club. He asked about Arthur's potion, too, but Arthur couldn't derive any pleasure from Yusuf's obvious joy at his first success story.

"Eames didn't distract me, it's true," he said, "but I don't want him to do it because he's mad at me!"

Yusuf blinked. "So what? You like him?"

"No!"

"... I don't get it, then."

"I just don't like it when people are mad at me," Arthur muttered.

It was a humongous lie. He couldn't care less about most people. But Yusuf didn't know that. As expected, he scoffed and muttered, "Silly Hufflepuff," before adding, more loudly, "He's a Slytherin. Believe me, he knows all about putting your work and success first, before other people's feelings."

That, Arthur accepted, was probably true. Sadly, it didn't make him feel any better about himself. Which, when he considered it with the brutal honesty he was capable of, probably did make him a silly Hufflepuff after all.

 

\- - - - -

 

Whenever Arthur was upset, he ventured into the kitchens to have dinner, skipping the evening meal in the Great Hall. The still-life that served as a door to the kitchen was not far, just at the other end of the hallway from the Hufflepuff entrance. It had become a game within Hufflepuff a long time ago, guessing the password to gain entry; and at this point, it was almost like the castle itself wanted them to know, leaving clues whenever the password changed.

In his first year at Hogwarts, Arthur had been the only one of his classmates to put the clues together and figure it out all by himself. He hadn't shared it, protective of his knowledge - a mistake, he now knew. But what was in the past was in the past. And it _had_ been a welcome distraction from his homesickness. He'd sat amidst the kitchen elves, giving them instructions on how to make all the dishes he remembered his father had made for him when he was little, back when there'd been time to swing the kitchen appliances like magic wands while he invented stories to make Arthur laugh.

Arthur was in the middle of enjoying his favorite - French stew -, when the door opened and someone slipped inside, footsteps echoing from the floor. This hardly ever happened. _Arthur_ knew that his visits were very welcome, as was his praise and appreciation for the house-elves' work; but most other kids seemed to think they would be imposing if they came here too often.

He strained his neck and caught a glimpse - of Eames. Arthur was on his feet at once. The sense of aggravation from the stairs was back with full force. "What are you doing here?"

Eames gave him a condescending look. "What, you thought Hufflepuffs were the only students allowed to skip dinner? I don't think so."

Arthur opened his mouth to reply, but a waddle of little feet alerted them both to the arrival of a house-elf. "Master Eames, Master Eames, welcome!" she called in a high-pitched voice. She was pretty and thin-limbed, very small even for house-elf size. She turned to Arthur first. "Master Arthur, is Sir finished with eating? Sir is too thin, Sir has to finish what's on his plate at least. Please sit down, Sir!" Then her eyes settled on Eames again, and, Arthur could hardly believe his eyes, she seemed to be _blushing_. "Master Eames, what would Sir like to eat tonight?"

"Whatever leftovers you've got will be fine, Mo," Eames said. His face had transformed into gentleness the moment her attention shifted to him; his mouth was curved up in a soft smile. When she brought him a plate of the French stew, he bowed his thank you in the most charming manner and bent over her tiny elf-hand to kiss her knuckles.

Arthur had never heard a house-elf giggle; the sound was both sweetly disarming and uncanny, like someone was shaking a pepper grinder. The sound - and sight - warmed his chest, squeezing his heart tight. He only realized he was staring when Eames caught his gaze and raised an eyebrow. Arthur lowered his eyes to his food, and tried to ignore whatever it was that had his stomach rolling. Probably revulsion.

He heard more than saw Eames slide up to sit on one of the empty kitchen counters, seating himself comfortably with his plate. He was a good distance away from Arthur, a complete departure from his usual attempts of pushing into Arthur's space whenever Arthur let him get away with it.

They ate in silence. The stew didn't taste as good as it had in the beginning, and Arthur suddenly found he wasn't hungry anymore. He finished what was on his plate quickly and stood up, time to leave. It occurred to him then that he did want to know one thing of Eames before he got out of here.

"How did you find out?" he asked.

"Find out what?" Easmes looked at him coolly, unimpressed.

"The password."

Eames tilted his head, waved him closer. Arthur hesitated, barely, then followed the gesture, closer and closer until there was three feet of space separating them. A crease appeared between Eames' eyebrows, he caught his breath - and a few seconds later, Arthur saw himself sitting on the counter, legs splayed wide, tie slung over his shoulder casually.

Arthur stared at his own face in confusion; then it hit him. "You _did not_ ," he hissed, appalled.

His own face smirked back at him. A second later, it was Eames again, bright-eyed, his mouth softening. "No," Eames admitted in all honesty. "No, I did not."

Arthur took the last step to close the distance, shaking with anger, took his chance - and flipped the content of Eames' plate into his lap. "Sometimes, I really hate you."

Eames let the plate shatter on the floor. Quicker than Arthur could look, he had wound his fingers around Arthur's tie and was pulling him down - catching his mouth in a kiss. Arthur's mouth burned.

And of course, Eames didn't even need to say it; Arthur heard it anyhow, in his head, clear as the day,

"There's easier ways to get me to take off my pants, love."


	2. Chapter 2

There was no sense of foggy confusion when Arthur woke up. He knew exactly where he was, how he'd gotten there, and whose arm was on his chest, keeping him pinned to the bed. Arthur hated sleeping on his back.

On the other hand, he was very comfortable. The bed was perfect. It was warm and soft; and when he looked very deeply into himself, he had to admit that it made him think of... cuddling. Thankfully, Eames' snoring was obnoxious enough to disallow any further examinations of that line of thinking. And his arm was rather heavy.

While Arthur knew where he was in terms of location within the castle - third door on the left-hand side down the corridor from the kitchen -, the room itself had been shrouded in darkness last night. All they'd needed was a bed. The room, it turned out, had provided much more than that.

Arthur had memorized 'Hogwarts- A History' in a state of near-panic, back when he'd first been accepted in Hogwarts, hoping it would catch him up on all the kids who had grown up in magical families. He knew what the Room of Requirement was, but until last night, he'd never physically encountered it. Last night, it had materialized before them suddenly. Arthur remembered desperately wishing for a room, a comfortable, safe little room with a bed, so that Eames wouldn't have to shag him against the cold stone wall at his back. He remembered giggling like a fool whenever Eames bit his neck and licked that spot behind his ear where Arthur was ticklish.

Well, he consoled himself, looking around the room in horror: at least they hadn't shagged against a wall in full potential view of an audience. He wasn't sure whether getting shagged in his childhood bedroom - a replica of his childhood bedroom - made him more or less of a pervert. There were the posters of his (dad's) favorite sports teams. The walls were lined with shelves, overflowing with books. The only difference to his actual bedroom were the two paintings he saw stacked in one corner. Francis Bacon, he realized, and winced. Sometimes, his subconscious was too damn obvious to deserve to be called subconscious. He just hoped there weren't any guards in London frantically looking for missing paintings in this moment.

Eames' arm tightened on his chest. Arthur took a deep breath and forced himself to face it. He could distract himself all he wanted with bedrooms and paintings, but the fact remained that he had done this - and enjoyed it, too. Might as well own up to it while he was looking down this particular rabbit hole.

He'd had sex. With Eames. And it had been great. The kissing, deep and desperate. Finding a place, a bed, their laughter as they fell into it in the dark, tripping over chairs and their own clothes (Arthur, of course, had folded his uniform with care, which had only made Eames laugh harder).

He'd let Eames undress him, take off the waistcoat, the tie. Eames really loved that tie. Arthur caught himself thinking of tying him up with it, immobilizing those eager, searching hands - and groaned. Not a good thought. He wanted to convince himself not to do this again. It was a bad idea. Incredibly bad. Definitely in the top five of bad life decisions Arthur'd ever made. Maybe even in the top two.

Maybe. Or maybe just once more, maybe they could have one repeat, to see whether this had been a fluke. It hadn't felt like a fluke when they'd rutted against each other, quick to come and get up again, crashing down a second time, and a third, hands and mouths wandering, exploring.

He wanted to do it again. He wanted to do it in full light so that he could run his tongue down Eames' body and see the traces he was leaving, follow them with his fingertips. He wanted to see what Eames' face looked like when he liked something so much that he couldn't stifle his moans.

Arthur untangled himself from Eames' arm and threw his legs over the side of the bed. He found his clothes where he'd left them, carefully stacked by the bed, so unlike Eames', whose boxer shorts were half-covering Robinson Crusoe's adventures, defiling Arthur's last innocent memory of his childhood bedroom.

When he was dressed, he snuck another glance at Eames. He didn't want this, he told himself. Not really. He was a smart boy. He knew what was good for him, and Eames was not good for anyone; he'd break Arthur's heart and probably laugh about it, too.

Eames was hugging Arthur's pillow tightly to his chest, sleeping on, undisturbed by the scrutiny and judgment.

It was almost 6am. Time to leave. Arthur was fairly sure he didn't have the stomach for whatever were to follow if he stayed.

 

\- - - - -

 

Arthur had hoped to do the walk of shame without anyone witnessing that he was doing any walk of shame at all. He should have known it wouldn't pan out. He never had any luck. A boy was sitting at one of the tables across the room when Arthur stepped through the common room entrance to sneak up to his dormitory. He'd been writing - letters, or maybe school work. His head came up at the noise of the painting rumbling aside to let Arthur in. Arthur recognized him at once; he really had no sort of luck whatsoever.

The Head Boy looked very surprised to catch Arthur of all people in an attempt to slip back into his room after a wild night out. Arthur knew what he had to look like to an outsider, day-old clothes and sex hair and the complete opposite of everything he usually stood for. It was all Eames' fault. Arthur was ready to swear this up and down before a court.

"Late night?" Robert asked. Arthur could see he was trying to stay diplomatic without having to come out and say it. Then his lips twitched and he gave in to the mirth. "Or should I say, early?"

Arthur had a sense of humor. Sometimes. This morning, it had decided to take the day off. "None of your business," he said shortly.

"Sort of is," Robert murmured. "I am responsible for you -"

"I'm responsible for myself. And I'm a prefect."

"Exactly."

"What do you want? My badge?" Arthur clenched his hands at his sides; he had a good fancy to throw it at the Head Boy's head. It would have been poetic justice. Very ironic. The badge was still pinned to his vest. Somehow, Eames had managed to take the item off without dislocating the pin. Arthur tried hard not to think about that.

Robert, instead of taking the bait, looked taken aback at Arthur's tone of voice. "No," he said slowly. "I wasn't threatening you. I was expressing concern. You don't look so good." He looked confused.

Arthur was confused himself. He was not usually prone to emotional outbursts of any kind. Another number on the long list of things that were Eames' fault. Arthur wondered whether he should send it to Eames when he was done, along with a bill, asking for compensation. Maybe therapy. Eames-Aversion Therapy.

"I'm fine," he said. He forced his face to polite blankness.

It made Robert look more concerned rather than less, but it wasn't like, even as Head Boy, he could do anything about it. "You should try to get some sleep before classes," he said finally. "And try to be more convincing with your dorm mates? They were worried last night when you didn't come back."

Arthur gave a tight nod, careful not to let his annoyance show. He took the words as a dismissal and hurried away. Sometimes, he almost wished he was a Slytherin. He was certain no one put their nose in other people's private business in Slytherin. Or if they did, they subsequently lost it to a nasty hex.

When he slipped under his sheets, they were cold and unyielding. His bed felt uncomfortable and too big. His dorm was just starting to wake, boys yawning and twisting and stretching, breathing too loudly, not snoring enough. Any glow that might have been left within Arthur from the fact that he'd experienced orgasms, with another human, multiple times; that he'd caused some pretty awesome ones, too. That was all gone by now.

The day really only could only get worse.

 

\- - - - -

 

Even when he went to bed at a reasonable hour at night, Arthur was not a morning person. He was always one of the last people at breakfast in the Great Hall. And this particular morning, when he blearily stumbled into the empty seat by Ariadne's side, he felt a thousand times worse. His eyes were glued shut. His hair was a mess. He wasn't sure whether he'd buttoned his shirt up right.

Ariadne, who was obnoxiously alert for 7.45 am, stared at him open-mouthed while he heaped sausages onto his plate. Then she clicked her pen against the side of her plate. "What happened to you?" she asked. Thankfully, she kept her voice down.

"Late night," he said, grabbing one of the last buns. Classes were starting in fifteen minutes. Most of the good food was gone, and wouldn't be replaced for late-comers.

"I can see that." She didn't prod, though, which was another reason why Arthur loved her so much. Instead, she leaned down to her bag and took a capsule from a pretty metal box. "Swallow that. I don't know if you're sick or just stupid, but since there's no cure for the latter, let's try doing something about the former."

Arthur swallowed the pill without question. His ears turned hot, he felt his face swell with a strange sensation and a wave of tingles ran through his body from head to toes. When he'd finished trembling, he felt a lot better than before the magic cure.

"Come on, now," Ariadne said, before he could ask. She pushed the last piece of sausage into his mouth, caught his eye and added, "Consider it an investment in my own future. We've got double Arithmancy. Don't thank me. I'm mad at you."

Arthur swallowed and nodded. "Let's go, then."

 

\- - - - -

 

Ariadne's irritation vanished the moment they set foot into the classroom. She turned to him, eyes sparkling in delight, and breathed, "It's today!"

It wasn't a huge surprise. They'd been headed to this point in their studies for weeks. In the front, Professor Vector was preparing a row of potions and herbs on her desk. Yusuf was standing by said desk, too. When he spotted Arthur, he gave him a wave, huge grin splitting his face. There was another man waiting by the professor's other side, a Slytherin seventh-year whom Arthur only knew from sight.

They sat down in their chairs. Arthur thought of the homework project in his backpack. They'd reworked some of the architecture, reconstructed the basic shape of the maze together. It was perfect now, flawless like most of Ariadne's designs.

"We'll do mine, right?" Arthur asked her.

Ariadne nodded, "It's perfect," she said. "Vector said so herself -"

"Please quiet," the professor called them to attention.

Silence fell, filled with anticipation. They were only six students in total in the class, and all of them were staring at the professor hungrily.

"Good morning. And yes. You will have a very good morning." Someone chuckled. It was a nervous sound. "You're all well above OWL level now, so yes: it is safe to proceed into the more practical application of Arithmancy." The Slytherin smiled at this, and Prof. Vector turned to him and Yusuf, giving Yusuf the first nod. "This is Yusuf, Professor Snape's top Potions students. And this is Saito; he's a NEWT level student and has supervised procedures like this one before. He will be assisting me with your safety."

Vector slowly locked eyes with each of them. "You've all done enough research by now to realize that the Astral Plane is not a children's playground. It's dangerous and it is possible to get lost in it. So don't stray. Keep in mind that this is the first of many trips we'll be taking. You will have more than enough time to explore and find answers to most of your questions. For today, I'll allow you a base time of about twenty minutes. This will give you...?"

Six hands shoot up into the air. Prof. Vector smiled. "Jasmine?"

"Four hours on the Astral Plane," Jasmine answered correctly.

"Exactly. Use the time to get acquainted with the structure of the plane, your own architecture and the forms you've chosen. Your calculations have been corrected by myself in your project designs. Use the ones I returned to you, not your original calculations. The Plane should be stable then. Now pair up, choose one assignment for each pair and I'll give each of you your set of instructions. After this, Yusuf will hand out the potions."

"No worries," Yusuf piped up. "They've been extensively tested by our most reliable government and should be safe."

Ariadne next to him snorted. Arthur could only agree. He hoped Snape had had a hand in that, otherwise, he wasn't so sure about the safety measures.

"In case of complications, both Saito and Yusuf are equipped to administer first aid," Professor Vector added, "Not to mention that I will be here the whole time, following your progress and monitoring your brain functions."

Arthur could feel himself tense up. He forced his back and shoulders to relax. Next to him, Ariadne was thrumming with energy, clicking her heel on the floor like the ticking of a clock.

Professor Vector gave each of them one more tight, earnest look. "I don't need to remind you that repeating this experience is absolutely prohibited outside of this classroom. If I catch anyone doing it in unsupervised time, they will be expelled with immediate effect." She gave the warning a few more seconds to sink in, then pointed at their seats. "Now, please transform your chairs into the most comfortable seating for yourselves. And then we'll start."

 

\- - - - -

 

Arithmancy, when Arthur had opted into it in his Third Year, following his newly found best friend, had seemed incredibly dull; even more so maybe than the fraud that was Divination class.

As it had turned out in a matter of weeks, this was subject to change. It turned out Arithmancy was not what Arthur had expected at all: instead, Arithmancy was a wholly different level of clairvoyance. It was based in science, necessitating a far above average knowledge of mathematics, physics, chemistry and biology, and even architectural design. To grasp the difficulty of spatial creation and to administer gathered knowledge to transform empty space into detailed existence, asked for a mental versatility that very few students possessed.

Ariadne was a natural. Arthur had worked his ass off to keep up with her.

The end product - the reason wizards and witches persisted in following the paths of Arithmancy - was prophecy. When they'd entered the class in the beginning, they had known what would be the goal. What they hadn't figured was that they would be recreating the world on a completely different plane of existence with a new set of calculated probabilities predicting possible events.

Calling Arithmancy a precise science might have been wrong. But it was certainly less made-up bullshit than Divination was. And even though most things could only be predicted with vaguely significant probabilities, it was still an experience; an experience that Arthur and Ariadne shared when they opened their eyes and found themselves standing in the vast, empty streets of an imaginary creation that had previously only existed on paper.

Ariadne caught his eyes and mouthed, "Oh."

Arthur had to agree. He had thought it would look like he'd imagined it. It didn't. It was all that, and so much more.

 

\- - - - -

 

After lunch, Arthur was supposed to show up for two hours of Herbology in Greenhouse V. But for the first time in his almost six years at Hogwarts, he skipped a class. He laid down to sleep his bed instead, exhausted and drained. And he dreamed.

In his dream, he transformed whole worlds, turned deserts into rain forests and played the violin, sitting on a beach with the sea as his metronome. He slept for over sixteen hours.

 

\- - - - -

 

It was 4 am when he woke up. Someone had covered him and pulled the curtains around his bed - one of his dorm mates, he guessed. The other boys were all deeply asleep. Their breathing and the occasional snores were audible through their beddings. Arthur grabbed a stack of fresh clothes and padded into the bathroom, casting a quick Silencing Spell on the door before he undressed and stepped underneath the hot water spray.

His head was a mess. He couldn't concentrate on any single thing; a distant ache in his chest reminded him of the night before and Eames, but the closer, more pressing matter of ' _I've been on the Astral Plane and it's mind-blowing_ ' swirled at the forefront of his mind. He was worried what Professor Sprout would say - he'd skipped her class without even notifying her. And he couldn't remember what had happened to Ariadne after they'd woken up. He'd felt her hand in his, squeezing hard enough to hurt, but after that, nothing.

He dressed in a fresh uniform. The familiarity of the waistcoat, knotting the tie, the button of his pants, calmed him down. Things slowly organized themselves in his brain. First things first: he had to write Mal. When they'd been on the Astral Plane, something had slotted in place. All the little details he'd filtered, without realizing what they meant, suddenly made sense. Dreamsharing wasn't just a senseless project the Department of Mysteries had made up to keep brilliant people's minds occupied.

Arthur knew what they were trying to do now. He knew how. He had to write Mal. He had to see Mal. A Hogsmeade weekend was coming up soon. She had to come, they had to talk. She'd know how this felt, this frantic need to experience it again, or at least to talk about it with someone who'd understand.

So yes: he would write Mal. He would go to the Owlery, send the letter off, and then he would go and look if Ariadne was all right. They had to talk. They had so much to talk about, and there wasn't enough time in the world.

 

\- - - - -

 

It took Arthur an hour to calm down enough to be able to write a coherent letter. Luckily, the common room was empty this morning. When he was done, he sealed it and set out towards the Owlery.

He was glad he'd taken his jacket and a scarf when he stepped out into the cold morning air. It was dawning already, but incredibly early for anyone to be wandering the grounds. The sky was gray and cloudy. It had turned November and the wind was cold enough that his fingers were frozen stiff when he pushed the heavy doors to the Owlery open and slipped inside.

Arthur found an owl, sent off the letter without any problems. The problems started when he drew open the doors to leave again and ran straight into someone's chest. Eames' chest.

"Is there _anywhere_ in this school I won't trip all over you?" he snapped, irrationally angry that they would cross paths again, here, when the school was so huge and they had nothing at all in common. Aside from a desire to send off letters at ridiculous hours, apparently.

Eames looked surprised all of a second before he flashed Arthur a smile. "We have to assume it's destiny and just give up."

"No, we don't."

"But you seemed to enjoy giving it up _so much_ , last time."

Arthur colored. "I did not."

Eames closed the door behind him, cutting off the stream of cold air that had made Arthur shiver. He shrugged. "All right. Whatever you say, Arthur." He didn't enter Arthur's personal space when he passed him by, heading for one of the owls further in the back. He pulled a thick envelope from his jacket pocket and started attaching it to the owl's leg.

Arthur watched him, unsure how to react. He'd expected more teasing - or at least some more sleazy come-ons. An Eames who just pulled away after all this unbalanced Arthur's footing and left him floundering. He couldn't yet admit to himself how much he wanted Eames to come over and pull him into another kiss - but he could admit that this whole business made him want _something_. Something other than Eames giving him the cold shoulder.

And there was still the business with Potions, which they hadn't addressed at all. Arthur cleared his throat. "I still owe you an apology, I think."

Eames hummed, but didn't turn around.

"I'm sorry I didn't talk it through with you. The partner switch. Before going to Snape. That was a bastard move."

"It was," Eames agreed easily. "But you're already forgiven." He petted the owl, making it hoot softly. The smile he gave it softened his face and made him look like a little boy. Then he sent the owl off and turned back to Arthur. The smile was gone. "Well?" he asked. "Was that all?"

"I - yes. I mean. No."

"No?"

Arthur mirrored Eames' casual stance, crossing his arms in front of his chest. His whole body was tingling again, and he wondered for a moment if Ariadne's magic pill from yesterday's breakfast had any strange side-effects. He couldn't think of anything to say.

Eames waited a few more beats before he gave a sigh. He looked tired suddenly. "Darling, believe me, I do appreciate your attempts at making my life miserable. And I'd love to humor your adorable confusion some more. But I have some other things going on right now that I have to deal with."

Arthur's mouth fell open. He had enough composure to quickly mask his reaction and hide all surprise - blank his face before Eames could see right through him - but it still sent a spike of hurt through his body. "What are you saying?" he asked. He sounded dry, voice unwavering.

"I figure you're very keen on putting whatever happened between us firmly behind yourself," Eames said. He sounded about as bland as Arthur felt. There was no trace of his usual smirk around his mouth. He just looked pained. "Judging by... things."

"Right," Arthur said. He felt sick.

"If that's what's going on here, have a free pass. I won't bother you anymore, you don't bother me anymore -"

"I've never bothered you, for your information."

"Fine." Eames voice held a warning edge. "Whatever. Blank slates. Call it a truce."

Arthur's stomach was leaden, a hard little ball. It was a good deal. It was exactly what he wanted, wasn't it? To forget anything had ever happened between them? Especially the sex. And the kissing. And everything else about Eames, ever. He swallowed, throat dry, and nodded.

"Great," Eames said. His mouth curled up into a smile again, the least honest one Arthur had ever seen from him. "Wonderful. And as for Potions - don't worry your pretty head, I'll talk to Snape. You'll have a new partner in time for the next project." With that, Eames pushed past Arthur and hurried out.

Arthur stared at the spot where Eames had stood, and hugged himself harder. Great, his brain repeated. Problems solved.

He ignored the part of himself that had wanted to tell Eames all about the Astral Plane and projections and what he'd seen; he stuffed it somewhere where he'd never have to examine it, and turned to leave as well. He could tell Ariadne. And unlike Eames, she'd even understand.

 

\- - - - -

When Arthur entered the Great Hall half an hour later, he was surprised to see not only Ariadne at the Hufflepuff table, but, sitting by her side, Yusuf, happily munching on a piece of toast. They were so deeply engrossed in conversation, they didn't notice when he plopped down on a seat opposite and grabbed the last croissant.

Ariadne looked no different. It was strange because Arthur himself _felt_ different, newly-returned from the Astral Plane. He wondered if it was really just in his head, that no one could really see, even though he felt like he was projecting it everywhere.

"- if we could adjust the Potion, maybe you could induce effects that would make it possible to alter the Plane itself, within the trance. I think I could do most of the necessary calculations for it in my head while under?"

"There's a similar project in progress, government-funded," Yusuf let her know in a low voice, sharing a secret smile.

"Hey," Arthur interrupted, glowering at Yusuf. "Ariadne's smarter than to fall for the 007 act, so you might as well can it."

Ariadne, previously tapping her fork against her plate, lifted it to point at Arthur. "Let me decide that for myself, will you?" But her face was already softening as she took in his body language. "How are you? Did you get back to your bed okay yesterday? I lost sight of you after the class, I don't know why. I woke up in my bed this morning."

"Me too," Arthur admitted. They both looked to Yusuf.

"New compounds," Yusuf shrugged. "It didn't use to work this way, but something about the dream state has been unstable lately. We're still figuring it out."

"You used us as subjects for new compounds you're testing?" Arthur asked, eyebrows raised. Ariadne didn't look ecstatic at the prospect, either.

"Oh, no, they've been tested," Yusuf said. "We've been aware of the after-effects. We just need more trials. We were completely prepared for the crash afterwards, don't worry, you were safe."

Ariadne sighed and kicked Arthur's shin with her toe. "Whatever. We've got Charms now. Flitwick'll be nice if we let him know we're hungover. You look like you haven't slept a wink."

"I'm fine," Arthur insisted. "Have you been in contact with Mal?" he turned to Yusuf.

"Sure I have," Yusuf said pleasantly, and grabbed his bag to check something inside before closing it again and readying himself to get up. "She was very curious about your reaction to the Plane. I assume you've already written her yourself?"

Arthur nodded. "Sent the letter off this morning."

"Good. She wasn't too subtle about wanting to meet with you next Hogsmeade weekend." He turned to Ariadne. "You should come, too. You're involved now anyhow, might as well use your genius."

"Why thank you," Ariadne smiled widely, eyes glittering with amusement. "Arthur, hear that? If you don't step up your game, I might have to switch you out for the better model."

Yusuf's blush was unmistakeable. Arthur just rolled his eyes. "He can have you. Hell, he can sit through hours and hours of Quidditch practice for you, in the bitter, subzero cold –"

"You've made your point," Yusuf interrupted him. He gave Ariadne a pensive look. "And once again I am reminded of perfection and paradoxes: two things that only exist in dreams."

Ariadne punched his shoulder playfully, while Arthur snorted into his juice.

 

\- - - - -

 

The rest of the month passed slowly. Eames made good on his promise and Arthur's next few Potions classes were spent in the company of Clayworth. She was a good student, rather quiet and a hard worker. Arthur was ecstatic to find out that she never bothered with crass remarks or flirted over the frog spat.

But the success from before remained a one-time affair: while Eames was chatting merrily with Arthur's housemate Asuka, Arthur managed to botch up every assignment, even though in Gryffindor fashion, Clayworth tried to help as much as she could (only making it _worse_ ).

Then, on the Thursday before the Hogsmeade weekend, the Burn-Healing Paste finally rounded up the story of his demise. By accident, Arthur dropped in more than the necessary spoonful of aloe – in fact, he dropped the whole phial -, and there was a huge bang. When the dust settled, most parts of the dungeon were splattered with a thick, yellowish paste that gave off a charcoal smell. Arthur's ears wouldn't stop ringing.

Then the pain registered. Everywhere the drops landed, they sizzled like fire. He couldn't hear Snape yelling orders and shoving students who weren't hit by the paste out of the classroom, but he could see that Snape was in a mild state of concern about the safety of said students and that was an alarming thought.

Five of them ended up in the hospital wing. The way Clayworth was scowling at him, Arthur resigned himself to working alone on his potions in the foreseeable future. And of course, Eames, hair the irritable red of a warning beacon, was here as well, even though he'd escaped the accident unscathed. Arthur wasn't sure why exactly he was here, if it was to gloat, or whether he was trying to prop up his ego by showing off his healing skills, but it was obnoxious. Especially when Eames came over to Arthur's bedside and settled down on the edge of the bed while Madam Pomfrey was a few beds further down, healing Clarke who'd gotten the worst of the burns.

"Hand," Eames said, meeting Arthur's eyes easily.

Arthur grumpily held it out. "Be careful," he muttered. "It hurts."

"Of course it hurts. The stuff is acidic. _What_ did you put in your cauldron?" Eames sounded both genuinely curious and a tiny bit excited. It was typical. But his wand was steady when he cast a healing charm, his fingers gentle applying the magical salve that immediately soothed the wounds. He ran his hands up Arthur's arm, pushing the sleeve out of the way.

Eames' touch burned, too, but not painfully, more of a tingle up Arthur's spine. Arthur pulled his hand away and looked over to Madam Pomfrey. "Was that it?"

Eames glanced down Arthur's body and smirked. "Did it get somewhere else?"

"If you're trying to get me to take my pants off," Arthur said, and thought, it was sort of working. Eames looked like he knew it too. His gaze was soft when their eyes met. Arthur didn't finish the sentence out loud. Instead, he cleared his throat and said, "My shoulder, I think."

"And your face."

"My face?" Arthur reached up with his hand to touch his cheek. It didn't hurt, but there was a little graze there. "Oh."

Eames pushed Arthur's fingers away and slowly ran over it with his thumb. He was very close suddenly, his breath warm and familiar. It felt like a caress, like what he'd done when they'd had sex, when he'd put his palm over Arthur's cheek to kiss him. Arthur felt himself lean forward and forcibly jerked himself back, mad at himself for falling for this routine, _again_.

"Right," Eames said. He leaned back as well and took his hand off Arthur's face. "This one doesn't need the charms, it'll heal fine with just the salve on it. I think Pomfrey will have to do your shoulder. Clayworth is looking like she's going to murder someone." Without waiting for Arthur to reply, he hopped off the bed and headed over to Clayworth's bed where Alex Harris was doing a horrible job attempting to fix her. Eames didn't sit on her bed, though, just bent over her and held out the salve for Alex before he started on the charms.

Arthur leaned back into the pillow and ignored the throbbing in his shoulder. His face was itching suddenly. He wished Eames hadn't mentioned the graze. He touched it again and grimaced.


	3. Chapter 3

As a direct result of the Potions incident, Arthur's punishment consisted of a private tutoring session with Professor Snape on Friday morning while a class of Slytherin and Ravenclaw fifth years brewed a Levitation Potion. Arthur spent the two hours preparing billywig stings and toad eyes, he plucked eagle feathers and crushed some frostwort, all of it in a lonely corner by himself while the fifth years gave him wary glances. When nothing exploded in the first ten minutes (not that there was much that could explode), they at long last returned to their usual state of low chatter and frenzied work. It was a relief.

Arthur was bitter because this was a free period which he normally used to have a bit of a lie-in; he could have been in bed still, if not for this detention. But it also could have been worse: he could have been stuck in evening detention, with Snape performing Legilimency on him. He'd heard the stories. It wasn't pretty.

And while Arthur was in the middle of squeezing the juice out of red roots, he couldn't help but overhear a squabble going on a table over between two Slytherin kids that caught his ear, mostly because at some point, the name 'Eames' fell, followed by a hush and more squabbling.

"... can't just go up and make him, can we," one of the boys muttered, adjusting the cauldron temperature with his wand. Arthur winced; thankfully, Snape wasn't paying attention, otherwise he'd have deducted points for that.

"But Saito wants, and you know how he can get -"

"- yeah, bitch's got a _temper_. And he's got the money, anyway. Or his dad does."

"So how do we do it?"

"Fast," the first boy said sharply. Then he glanced up and almost caught Arthur looking if Arthur hadn't been fast enough to drop a flask of eel fluid so he could bend down to get it back. "Now shut up. If you want to get an OWL in this class, you better not screw this up."

"All right, all right."

Arthur tried to listen to whatever else they said, but they didn't return to the topic, instead circling the conversation around Quidditch tryouts and girls and their next class assignments. Arthur was very glad when the class came to an end. He carefully bottled and stowed away the ingredients he'd prepared.

"Come back in the evening," Snape told him when Arthur passed by the front, without looking up from the book he was studying at his desk. "Yusuf will help you with your potion. I'm sure you've already figured out what you'll be brewing."

"Wound-Healing Potion," Arthur ground out. Yes, the irony. He wasn't _stupid_. Still, he was almost sure Snape's lips curled up into a tiny smile.

"Very well. You may leave," Snape said.

 

\- - - - -

 

Dealing with classes and homework, minus a few moments in between when he could inhale food either in the Great Hall or meander through the kitchens for a snack, took up most of Arthur's day. He was back in the dungeons just in time for the rest of his detention that evening.

"I should become an honorary Slytherin, with the amount of time I spend down here," he told Yusuf.

Yusuf grinned. "I'd get that title first. Sadly, they don't give them out unless you're a pureblooded aristocrat who shits money. But then again, you'd probably be sorted into Slytherin if you were that."

Arthur thought of Eames and decided not to say anything in response to _that_. It wasn't untrue. Instead, he focused on laying out his well-prepared ingredients and set up the cauldron under Yusuf's supervision. When he was done, he looked up so he would catch any sliver of reaction and asked, "So, what do you know about Saito?"

"Nothing," Yusuf replied, a little too quickly. He didn't look Arthur in the eye as he said it, instead pointing at the cauldron. "Start with the eel solution. You know the set-up. Heat with fire -"

"- not with magic, I know." Arthur did as per instructions. The solution would take three or four minutes to reach optimal temperature. Enough time to make another foray. "I only know that he's filthily rich and that his dad networks a lot of overseas wizarding companies. He's not Wizengamot though, is he?"

"Not that I know of," Yusuf said easily. "But like I said, I don't know anything about him."

"He's in your year."

"So? Different house, different friends, different interests."

"Not so different, considering you both supervise us in Arithmancy every time we go on trips to the Astral Plane."

Yusuf shrugged. "He's good. Not brilliant, definitely nothing like Ariadne, for example - have I mentioned she's a genius?"

"You have. Saito, though -"

Yusuf sighed. "You just don't let up, do you?"

Arthur narrowed his eyes. He didn't. He was a stubborn bastard that way, which sometimes got him on people's bad side. But it also always got him the answers he wanted, which tended to be worth it. He was good with information.

"All I know is that he didn't want to do Arithmancy, but his dad made him do it. And a lot of money changed hands for private tutoring when he couldn't quite keep up with the syllabus." Yusuf smiled. "That's how I knew you were brilliant. No one stays in Vektor's class long as you did, without some serious work and brain power."

Arthur felt himself flush. The flush grew more pronounced when he realized he was messing up his potion, again, and Yusuf was complimenting him in an attempt to distract him.

"Shit," he swore, swooping in to salvage what he could. "You're a hardass."

"I wasn't lying," Yusuf told him, patting his shoulder.

 

\- - - - -

 

Ariadne was waiting for him in front of the Hufflepuff entrance when Arthur finally got back. The potion had been surprisingly successful, and he was now a proud owner of a flask of Wound-healing Potion, which he kept in his bag, ready for any and all occasions. He was also exhausted.

"You look like you're going to faint any minute. Prefect bathroom?" she offered.

"I haven't been there in ages," Arthur admitted. "Yeah, let's."

Ariadne wasn't technically allowed in, since she wasn't a prefect, but she'd nagged Arthur so long until he'd given in. He hadn't given her the password - again something his good conscience wouldn't let him do, annoying as it was - but she'd gotten him to promise to take her along whenever he went to have a bubble bath in the huge, swimming pool-like tub.

"Go get stuff, then, I'll summon my bathing suit," Ariadne said, excited, and it only took a few minutes until they were on their way to the fifth floor and past the statue of Boris, who looked at them in a very disapproving manner. As if people hadn't taken their girlfriends in there before, honestly. It was always the same thing with the stupid statue.

Ariadne giggled at his expression once they were inside. She changed in one of the stalls while Arthur opened the taps and filled the tub with foam and lilac water and huge, rainbow-shimmering bubbles. Then he undressed, laid his uniform onto the floor in a corner and slipped in, moaning at the heat and the sensation of pulsing water all around him.

"Keep your spunk to yourself," Ariadne chastised, joining him a second later.

"Shut up," Arthur murmured, too exhausted to even blush at the comment. "Even beating off feels like it would be too much work right now."

"Poor darling."

"Ugh," Arthur said, and unsuccessfully threw some foam at her. "Don't ever call me that, ever."

"Right. _Eames_." Ariadne was staring at him curiously. Then the curiosity changed into wonderment and shocked surprise. "Oh my god, you fucked."

"What? No. No, we - well. No?" Arthur groaned, leaning his head back before he dunked himself. Of course, she'd figure it out in less time than he needed to even process it all.

"Arthur!" Ariadne had her hands in front of her mouth, eyes bulging. "Oh my god, how was it? Was he good? Is he - you know? _Nice_ , and like? Did it hurt? Are you going to do it again? How far did you - did you let him put it -"

"Ariadne!" Arthur interrupted her, bright red and feeling very awkward. She'd swum closer, blinking and huge-eyed and _laughing_ at him. "No. I - no. We just. There was a lot of. I think the correct term is frottage."

" _I think the correct term is frottage_ ," Ariadne repeated, and then keeled over with giggles, hitting the water repeatedly with her arms, unable to contain herself. "What _are_ you, oh my god, Arthur, you are the weirdest." When she took note of his frowny face, she immediately backtracked. "Good weird, though. Adorable and lovely weird. Oh, Arthur. Don't look at me like that, I was just teasing."

Arthur chewed on his lower lip and shrugged. "Anyway, it's over now, so."

"What?" All the mirth was gone, even though a tear was still lodged at the corner of Ariadne's left eye. "So how long - no, wait. You're over? What, right after you did it? That's - did he dump you? Is that why you've been so sulky lately?"

"No. He didn't dump me. We weren't boyfriends or anything, we just met up sometimes. We decided together that we didn't want to anymore."

"But why?"

Arthur stared at a bubble, popping it in mid-air. "Just because."

"That's stupid." Ariadne slithered up to him and rubbed their upper arms together. Her hair was wet and stringy, but her face was open and concerned like always when she was worried about him. "You like him."

"I don't like him."

"Ugh, Arthur. Don't make me hit you, of course you like him. You talk about him all the time."

"He's a jerk who fake-kisses people."

"And who apologized and grovelled and begged for your forgiveness because he realized he'd been horrible." Ariadne rolled her eyes. "He likes you, too, you know. And just so you know? I'm going to Hogsmeade with Yusuf tomorrow. We will be insufferable. So you should go and ask Eames so you won't have to go by yourself."

"You're dating Yusuf?"

"Not yet," Ariadne said. "And don't change the topic."

"I'm not going to ask Eames. He said he had more important things to do right now. And I'll be meeting Mal and maybe Dom, so that's my afternoon all planned out."

"Fine," Ariadne gave in.

It worried him a bit, because she never gave in this fast. But he didn't have the energy to protest much further, and she went on to tell him about her brothers back in Paris, and the new Quidditch tactics she was going to propose in practice next week, so he closed his eyes and just listened.

He didn't realize he'd fallen asleep until she peeled him out of the water half an hour later, handing him towels and helping him dress, and somehow, he found himself in bed, where he closed his eyes and was back to sleep immediately.

 

\- - - - -

 

Arthur woke up and felt rested for the first time in ages. Saturday morning was bleak, but with a glimmer of blue skies on the far horizon. For mid-November, that was better weather than anyone could have hoped for. The expectancy had been for a lot of rain and a freezing, cutting wind.

His housemates were all gone, and when Arthur checked the clock, he realized it was going on noon already. He fell back into his pillows groaning. No wonder he felt rested. He'd slept half the day away.

After a quick shower and a visit in the kitchens, he also realized that Ariadne hadn't been lying. He met one of her Ravenclaw friends who told him she was probably on her way to Hogsmeade by now. So were most of the castle occupants. The hallways were deserted and when he returned to the Hufflepuff common room, it had emptied out as well, the last of the stragglers gone.

He grabbed his winter cloak, firmer boots and decided he might as well make some purchases while he was out. He was to meet Mal at four, which left him with a couple more hours to get new quills at Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop and visit Tomes and Scrolls to buy the just-published new Droversdon tome, sixth in a series. The rest of the time, he slowly walked about the village, window-shopping, watching the other Hogwarts students run around and chat with their friends.

When he got bored, he dropped into Dervis & Banges to watch their work for a while. And finally, he played the piano for half an hour at Dominic Maestro's, who was always happy to see Arthur, knowing Arthur's face already by sight. He elatedly brought him a cup of hot chocolate in trade for the impromptu concert. Arthur knew he wasn't very good - he didn't have much opportunity to practice at Hogwarts, and hardly ever felt the desire to - but he'd had piano lessons since he was five years old, so he could play some Muggle classics.

And then it was already time to get to The Hog's Head.

The pub wasn't as full as The Three Broomsticks tended to be, but it was crowded enough that Arthur had to push past a group of students in the front standing by the bar, ordering food and beverages. He spotted Mal immediately once he was past them. She was as gorgeous as he remembered her from the first time he'd seen her, her hair in a stylish bun atop her head. She had been very hard to ignore when she'd been at Hogwarts, first because she'd been a much talked about exchange student from Beauxbatons, and then because she'd been much talked about in general, especially by the boys, most of whom spoke of her in hushed tones of admiration.

She was sitting in the back corner at one of the big tables. Arthur recognized Dom next to her; opposite sat a girl he hadn't seen before, with long blond curls, dressed in everyday clothes. Not a Hogwarts student, then. When Arthur approached the table, she spotted him first and gave him a sweet smile.

Then Mal turned and caught his gaze. "There you are, Arthur," she said, giving him a quick, seated hug in greeting. "We were wondering when you'd arrive."

"Sorry," Arthur said, and slipped into the bench beside the girl. "Didn't realize I was late." He gave Mal an apologetic shrug and turned to the girl, saying, "I'm -

"- gorgeous, darling," the girl interrupted, leering.

Arthur flushed at the same time as he realized what was going on. "Screw you, Eames."

The girl - Eames - opened her - his? - mouth to protest, but Dom held up his hand. He looked scruffy, but better dressed than usually, possibly Mal's influence. "Keep it friendly, you two." He especially gave Arthur a stern look. "He's in disguise for a reason, we'll explain. We're still waiting - oh, there they are."

A second later, Yusuf and Ariadne were joining their table, both carrying huge jugs of butterbeer. Arthur caught Ariadne's gaze, which she returned with a smug smile. Then her eyes travelled over Mal and Dom over to Eames. "Since I'm guessing you guys are Mal and Dom - who're you?" She smiled politely.

"That would be Eames," Mal said. "And you guessed correctly. Sit down you two." She pulled Ariadne into the seat next to her, already stealing a sip of her butterbeer, as Mal was prone to, whenever someone else had any form of nourishment close. Yusuf was left to squeeze into the seat beside Arthur, at the same time pushing Arthur into Eames, who smelled of honey and chili powder and not at all like Eames usually smelled.

"You really take the stupid charade to the extreme, don't you?" he muttered. He pulled his cloak tighter around himself and straightened his lapels.

"Everything to confuse you, dear," Eames said, teeth an even row of pearly white. "You know I hardly do anything without you in mind."

"It wouldn't surprise me at all -"

"Boys," Mal commandeered their attention. "Can we start?"

"Yes, please," Arthur said, and gave Eames a last warning glare. "Let's start."

 

\- - - - -

 

When they finished, over an hour later, it was pitch-dark outside. Arthur's pocket watch proclaimed it past six. Since curfew was set by eight, that meant he still had a good while until he had to head back to the castle. When they parted outside The Hog's Head, Mal gave him a tight hug which he couldn't even properly savor for all the thoughts running through his head.

"Think about it. I'll hear from you soon, Arthur," she whispered into his neck, and then slipped her arm into Dom's as they walked off into the night. She hadn't changed at all. He was still head over heels for her, in the most platonic of ways. It was highly confusing.

"See you later tonight at the Huff entrance?" Ariadne asked him, nudging his side to meet his eyes before she completely unsubtly lifted her chin in Eames' direction. She took Yusuf's hand and pulled him along, despite his protests that he'd wanted to talk to Arthur about -

Arthur snorted and watched them trod up the path that led to the castle. Then he turned on his heel. Sweets, he decided. He'd forgotten to buy sweets and Honeydukes sold those sweet crystallized fruits that he loved, pineapples and banana chips and mango pieces. He didn't even notice that Eames fell into step beside him until he draped a warm, fire-scented scarf around Arthur's neck and said, "You really shouldn't forget your scarf when it's this cold out."

Arthur stopped in the middle of his next step, half-blocking the street in the process, and gave him a narrowed look. "What?" Luckily, no other pedestrians were using the street at that moment.

"Don't worry." Eames' mouth quirked up into a smile. "It's not catching."

"Right. That's good. Still - what?"

"The Slytherin."

It was, after all, a Slytherin scarf. Arthur almost hadn't noticed. Eames hadn't been wearing it before, and even now, back to his original form that Arthur knew so well, he was still dressed in casual clothes, not his Hogwarts uniform.

Arthur pulled the scarf closer around his neck and hitched his backpack higher up his shoulder before he continued on his way. A glance to the side showed that Eames was looking at him curiously, judging his reaction. Arthur snorted. "I'm not shutting you down because you're a Slytherin, Eames. The Sorting Hat even asked if I wanted to be a Slytherin, back in first year."

Eames' eyebrows rose in surprise. "But you're. Uh. I mean, why didn't you?"

"Yup, I'm Muggle-born," Arthur completed Eames' first sentence, and then added, wryly, "I grew a gigantic crush on the Hufflepuff headboy when he taught me that charm to levitate my suitcase into the overhead compartments, on the train. I desperately wanted to be in his house."

Eames' facial expression was a war zone of torrid amusement versus abysmal horror.

"Also, I'm hard-working and loyal," Arthur quipped. They were at the Honeydukes entrance; he held the door open for Eames to enter.

"Do you regret it?" Eames asked once they were inside, and Arthur was scanning the shelves upon shelves of sweets for his favorites.

Arthur took a bag of ice mice, handed them to Eames and said, "I made the right choice, if that's what you mean. I guess mostly, I was grateful I got to make a choice. I figure some kids don't get to."

Eames took the bag and shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe not." He pulled at one end of the scarf he'd given to Arthur and grinned. "At least neither of us ended up in Gryffindor. High five!"

 

\- - - - -

 

The time spent with Eames took Arthur's mind off Mal and Dom's proposal, but it didn't manage to solve any of the conflicting feelings he had about it, and it certainly didn't present him with a final answer to give his two friends.

He'd been prepared to work with the Department of Mysteries after he graduated. Hell, he'd been prepared to sell his soul for that job, that sort of amazing, meaningful work that held the additional bonus of having his friends there, and being challenged.

But now they were asking him to help with a job, a job they were being paid to do outside of their Ministry duties, and it was a job on a student, and that... he wasn't sure he could square that with his conscience. Especially since he knew said student. Robert might be annoyingingly headboyish at times, but he was _nice_ and sweet and Arthur didn't feel comfortable breaking into his mind, as was obviously the plan.

He sat down on the landing to the Hufflepuff entrance and not much later, Ariadne joined him, sitting down close, taking his hand in hers. Her eyes crinkled when she saw he was wearing the scarf, but she didn't say anything.

"His dad's going to die, and they want to take him on the dream level to mess with his head once it's happened. How do you square doing something like that with yourself?" he asked her.

"Eames wasn't completely wrong," Ariadne reminded him. "It could turn out to be a good thing for Robert. The catharsis - everyone knows their relationship is strained at best."

"That would be my job," Arthur said bitterly. "To find out all about that relationship. I really don't like this. And what do they need Eames for anyway. There was no word about why he's part of the plan. Just that no one can know that he is."

"I'm guessing the part where no one can know might be because of Saito's son? They're both in Slytherin. Saito probably doesn't want his son to know anything about this. The guy might be supervising our Arithmancy classes, but that doesn't mean he's got privileged access to a job like this. Or that he's good enough to join in on one."

"Yusuf said something about that to me. To you too, huh?"

"Yes. He thought it might be wise that we go into this with the same amount of knowledge." Ariadne threw him a lopsided smile. "We don't just make out all day, you know." She let go of his hand and leaned back until she was half-lying on the floor. "We really got ourselves into something."

Arthur half-smiled. "We really did."

"At least we can still say no."

"Or so they say."

Ariadne gave him a worried look. "You think they'd obliviate us?"

Arthur shrugged. "I don't know. Anything's possible, I guess."

They stayed seated for a few more minutes, humming, before they parted ways. He only realized he had no idea what he was supposed to do with Eames' scarf when he was undressing for bed. In the end, he put it on top of his trunk and resolved to give it back the next day.

 

\- - - - -

 

The next day turned out to be excellent timing, though maybe timing was less important in that particular moment than the fact that Arthur had noticed the two fifth year Slytherins from Potions trailing Eames after breakfast and decided to follow them.

Eames, the fool, either didn't notice or didn't care, and intentionally picked hallways and staircases that were less and less populated until he found himself in a deserted hallway leading into the dungeons, and of course, that was exactly what the two idiots had been waiting for.

Except instead of just two of them, two others stepped in from the other direction, and before Arthur could even wonder where they'd come from, or how they'd even known, Eames was shouting a hex, and then he was lying on the floor, Petrificus Totalus hitting him square in the back.

Arthur swore. But he had the advantage of a surprise attack, and cover on two of them, which meant he stunned the first with a well-placed Stupefy, hit the second one with a partial freeze, _Immobulus_ , already knowing Stupefy would have been a waste of time; the freeze at least took out his wand-arm and made him unable to walk.

The third Slytherin was on his own now, and didn't lose any breath before hurling a Stinging Hex at Arthur. He clearly wasn't playing around. Arthur quickly called up a shield just in time for it to bounce off, and ducked behind a pillar, popping back into sight to cast a Ventus jinx to throw his opponent off. It worked only in so far as that the guy stumbled backwards, catching himself enough to shout, "Verdimillious!", flashing a green jet of light at Arthur, a classic first year attack that was lethal enough if it managed to hit.

Arthur pulled himself together. He put up a better shield - the guy could clearly duel, but maybe at fourth year level at best - and stepped out from behind the pillar. The next hex bounced right off, proving Arthur right, and then Arthur cast another simple Stupefy, fast enough to hit him before he could even think about putting up a shield of his own.

And that was four.

Half-frozen guy was still flapping around, wand lying by his stiff fingers. The guy Eames had managed to hit was out cold.

"Ennervate," Arthur said, getting him just up enough to make sure he was conscious, but unable to move. Arthur was proud to see that his own stunning spells, though a bit rusty, as always carried that nice little side-effect automatically. He turned to Eames and cast another Ennervate, resulting in Eames shuddering once before he rose up to his knees. Arthur didn't give him a second look, just turned to the bodies.

"Whatever this was about," he said sharply, "I suggest there's no repeat performance or I'm getting all of you expelled. Ten points from Slytherin, off every single one of you. The charms will wear off in half an hour. Enjoy your stay." Then he turned to Eames and pointed his wand at him. "And you. Get moving. Now."

They were two hallways down when Eames said, "Arthur."

"No." Arthur turned on him, furious. "What was that about? Don't tell me you had no idea they were after you. You drew them out into open space like that, are you _mad_?"

"Why, Arthur, I didn't know you cared," Eames smirked.

"Just shut up. You were lucky, that's all."

"I had it under control."

"Uh huh."

"I did."

"I saw that. Do you want me to bodybind you again, or was once enough to satisfy your kinks for today?"

Eames grinned and moved closer, gently taking Arthur's wrist to force him to lower his wand. "Don't threaten things you're not ready to deliver on. How come you're so good at duelling?"

"I like to be prepared." Arthur glowered. "What did they want, anyway?" He took a step back when Eames moved another step in. "Eames, answer the question."

"Just a small misunderstanding with another member of my house," Eames said. "I'm handling it."

"I can see that." When Eames had him pressed back against cold stone wall, he looked up into Eames' eyes, unafraid. "Is this about Saito?"

Eames said, "You ask way too many questions," and then he was leaning in and not letting Arthur ask any questions anymore at all. Arthur wanted to protest, and then he didn't. He thought, _oh_ , and then, he guessed, maybe Eames had time for him now, after all. He didn't even bother to consider how much he was fucking himself over. He guessed it was inevitable, at this point.

 

\- - - - -

 

The Room of Requirement, it seemed, liked itself a filthy affair now and then, or else Arthur had no idea why it didn't come simply when Arthur tried to summon it any other times. In any case, it came very much in handy when Eames pushed his hand into Arthur's pants and said, "A bed would be a nice chance right about now."

"Door," Arthur moaned back, and rocked his hips into the perfect, absolutely amazing grip Eames had on him, firm and warm, but not too tight. "Door. Behind you."

So they ended up in another bed, at another completely inopportune moment, and this time it was daytime, so Arthur got his wish, at least partially. Eames was very much in favor of losing his shirt and pants and letting Arthur run his tongue up and down smooth skin and lean stomach muscles and the hard bony structure of his hips.

When they'd both come, Arthur plopped down onto the pillow next to Eames' head and could not in a million years fathom how fantastically stupid he was being. Except he was carrying Eames' scarf around in his backpack and had just saved Eames from four of his Slytherin housemates like a completely whipped Prince Charming to the rescue. So instead of crying, he laughed.

Eames' hand was warm on Arthur's naked shoulderblade. He ran his fingers up and down Arthur's spine, making him shiver, and then placed a kiss onto Arthur's shoulder.

"I have no idea why you don't want to believe me that I really like you," he said softly. When Arthur turned his head to look at him, he dipped down and kissed Arthur's mouth chastely and gently, just a press of lips on lips.

"You fake-kissed me under a mistletoe," Arthur reminded him.

Eames groaned. "You will never, ever let me forget that, will you?"

"No," Arthur said sweetly. "You are not to be trusted." But he was smiling. He couldn't help the smile, it was silly, but he had a feeling he was going to get a blowjob really soon, and that was worth a smile, at least.

"I'm demanding you back as my Potions partner, by the way," Eames told him. "Might as well partner up in everything, if we're going to be taking Occlumency and Legilimency lessons together to get into that Mysteries Department. Say, any chance you can teach me some of that Arithmancy stuff -"

"Oh my god, no. No way. That, you will have to do on your own."

"How about your badass duelling skills? Will we be training those together?"

"No. Definitely not."

Eames sighed and started sliding down Arthur's body, kissing his collarbone, his ribs, his right elbow. "I guess we're stuck just having sex all the time, then."

"Yes, what a drag."

Eames took his hand and kissed his fingertips. "It will be a terrible hardship for me, love, I can assure you."

"Well, you better not get bored of it soon. You know what I can do to you now if you do." Arthur's back arched when Eames arrived at his appointed destination. "And for the record, I still don't like you."

For all Arthur cared, Eames could tell Ariadne, too, how completely wrong she had been about that. Just as long as he never, ever stopped whatever he was doing with his tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this is a sort of Arthur/Eames love story kind of deal, I hope it's all right that plotty things don't get completely resolved - especially as the rest happens quite as in the movie :) But you never know, maybe I'll revisit one day how Mal dies and the crew does the Fischer job after that etc etc. I'll be very happy if a handful of people have enjoyed it, anyhow, as much as I enjoyed writing it <3


End file.
